


Faith, the Vampire...Slayer

by frogfarm



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)
Genre: Character Turned Into Vampire, Gen, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-16
Updated: 2006-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley's strategy in "Release" doesn't go as planned. Angelus thinks he's won. Faith has something to say about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith, the Vampire...Slayer

**Author's Note:**

> More or less what went through my mind when I first saw Angel 4x14, ["Release"](http://buffy-vs-angel.com/angel_tran_80.shtml). What a powerful ending; I honestly thought something like this was going to happen.

Wesley knows the smell of failure; how history repeats despite him, every victory bought and paid and always the cost so dear. In some ways it feels peaceful, the numbness of being reduced to his sole function, helpless to do more than watch as those he loves are cut down: Children he swore to protect snatched from his arms, dashed on rocks of despair until they rose up hard and cruel, determined to return his kindness. Faith has come so far, actually found that peace he thinks Connor never will, and once more it comes to naught.  
  


Failure smells like blood.  
  


Angelus lifts his head with a look of disgust, spitting a crimson shower over the tiles.  
  


"Whoo! Back to bartending school!" One hand wipes at his mouth, other arm holding the Slayer in an iron grip.  
  


"Nice roofy, Wes. Guy might think you were tryin' to take _advantage_ of him, but I gotta tell ya -- all it did was piss me off. Here I was looking forward to a nice Slayer cocktail, and now I have to waste _all_ \--"  
  


He nearly shuts his eyes, as fangs sink once more into her throat.  
  


"-- this _great_ \--"  
  


Arterial spray covers that bestial grin.  
  


"-- _food_!"  
  


The final punctuation mark brings another spurt, weaker than before, and Faith is hurled to the floor, bouncing once, sliding a few feet before coming to a stop. His breath is dust, legs burning as he tries to move, mirroring her own feeble efforts. His shotgun is somewhere amongst the rubble, the hidden knife still strapped to his calf. If Angelus doesn't look over and see -- if he can crawl that far --  
  


"Too late." A boot comes down on his outstretched hand, grinding flat into the floor. He can't scream when Angelus grabs him by the collar, piercing his shattered eyes with a jovial smile.  
  


"Wes, Wes...I've been wanting to try this for _years_! Don't tell me you weren't reading the right books? I thought we were on the same page!"  
  


_Delwar's Compendium_ , he thinks, and his stomach gives a violent lurch. His attacker leans down to sniff bruised flesh, grabbing the other arm, twisting it behind his back.  
  


"Don't worry. I'm not gonna _kill_ ya." Pressure vanishes from his broken hand as he's hoisted up in the air, crushed in a brutal parody of a hug, lips tickling his ear. "Gonna need an audience. For my second greatest trick..."  
  


He tries for a knee but Angelus grins, twists his hips to avoid the strike. "Below the belt? Who'da thought?"  
  


"You'll never --" The words cut off as he's thrown back, hurtling to impact against the wall, falling where he began. Laughter resounds, the buzz in his head almost drowning out the cheerful voice of the grave.  
  


"You kiddin'? I'm goin' for a double header. Me and my girl are hittin' Sunnydale _first_ thing, soon as she wakes up." An edge of menace creeps in, tainting the humor. "Now you just lay back and relax...and think of England."  
  


It's not a blessing when his sight goes dark, makes listening worse: Angelus softly crooning encouragement, a mockery of nursing Connor. _I know you want to live, baby, you said so. Drink. Be strong..._ And the joy and pride, when quiet suckling reaches his ears.  
  


Tears trickle down his stubbled cheek, and he manages to move an inch before lapsing back into this odd haze. He's jolted out of it when the screaming starts.  
  


"Whoa!" Kid with a new toy, endless possibilities. "Looks like the old coot was right!" Like lightning Angelus is by his side again, raising him up, making him look as Faith writhes and contorts, fingers gouging chunks from the floor.  
  


"C'mon, Wes, ringside seat! Don't wanna miss the ultimate demon championship, do ya?"  
  


His heart shatters as she struggles to rise even through the pain, the memory of Delwar's labored, spidery script overlaid on the nightmarish scene playing out before him. If the mad mage is correct in all things, this should be over soon, though never soon enough. And then he will die. Or not.  
  


She seizes up, bent nearly double, sounds like she's choking on her tongue. A dry sob echoes, and Wesley realizes it's his own.  
  


Fangs enter his neck, flowering agony as the vampire draws deep and pulls away with a satisfied sigh. "Ah...the pause that refreshes. Well buddy, it's been fun, but you know -- I really think it's time I moved on." Cold fingers wind in his hair, dark and twinkling eyes boring into his. "Always did prefer the ladies anyway."  
  


Fresh fire blossoms as his cheekbone connects with tile.  
  


"Then again, you knew that."  
  


Somehow Wesley remains conscious, fighting to stand even as Angelus bends over her pale, still form with a look of rapture; falling on the worse of his two legs, her name caught in his throat like a benediction. Her eyes open, and she is more beautiful than he ever knew.  
  


The last thing he remembers is her fist, meeting an astonished face.  
  


* * *

A stinging slap wakes him, not quite painful before the rest of his body comes alive screaming. It's nothing compared to the memories that flood back, and then the terror drains away as he looks up into endless dark pools framed in porcelain. Perhaps eternity with her won't be such a torture after all; and if he were to die right now, at least there is some tiny happiness to be found in this moment.  
  


She kneels beside him, eyes flickering over his battered form, and a shiver runs through him as her features morph and shift.  
  


"I'm sorry..."  
  


He barely feels the words leave his raw, cracked throat until the demon disappears, hunger and shame at war. He doesn't flinch when she leans down, cradling his broken visage in one hand; no room for fear as she carefully licks the blood from his cheeks, trembling with suppressed need.  
  


"Me too..." Her lips find his, and he's too surprised at the delicate kiss to do anything but let her.  
  


A tremor of fear, as he remembers. "Angelus--!"  
  


She shifts, drawing a fresh gasp, and then he sees; the room completely destroyed, every inch of scaffolding reduced to kindling and bent pipes. The vampire lies a few feet away, face down, the hilt of a syringe sprouting from one buttock. It's so incongruous he has to laugh, and then he nearly cries in pain and relief.  
  


"Gimme your phone."  
  


He stares dumbly up at her, uncomprehending. She reaches into his coat with a snarl, pulling his cell out and snapping it open, look of satisfaction as the display lights up.  
  


"Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'." She grins down, suddenly looking adorably dopey. "Just like you..."  
  


He watches, stupefied, as the grin gets dopier throughout her conversation. "-- Gunn, I ain't got time. Just get your ass down here pronto. You got three bodies to move, so bring help -- _hell_ no, leave Junior there. Trust me..."  
  


She hangs up, stuffs the phone back into his pocket. Her hand lingers on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I _am_ sorry."  
  


It's almost impossible for him to think; the feel of her body so familiar and cold, humming with frightening, unnatural strength. "For what?"  
  


"Hurtin' you."  
  


A laugh bubbles up from his gut, turning into a cough as she gently lays him out on the floor.  
  


"What..." Somewhere, he finds the words. "What are you doing?"  
  


"What's it look like, dumbass?" She slowly topples over, almost looking afraid as she hits the floor with a grunt. "Oh god -- shit's finally kickin' in..."  
  


His own fear rises and she pins him like a butterfly. "I'm goin' in, sarge..."  
  


"Why --" He gasps as something that shouldn't shifts inside of him, silenced by her gaze.  
  


Her eyes flutter shut as she graces him with a dreamlike smile.  
  


"'Cause I'm nobody's bitch but my own."  
  
  
  



End file.
